The Nevarine's Apprentice
by Arrow the Wood Elf
Summary: What happens when Arrow, the Nevarine, is charged by Azura to take on a troublemaking spellsword as a pupil? I, for one, do not know.....
1. Setting the Stage and Starting a Brawl

The Nevarine's Apprentice

Arrow, Grandmaster of the Morag Tong, Master Thief of the Theives Guild, and Grandmaster of the Great House Hlallu, let out a long sigh equal to his long list of titles...

Quite frankly, he was bored.

Sitting atop the roof of Rethan Manor, Arrow- the Nevarine- wondered just what he could do. 50 years had passed since Dagoth Ur's defeat, yet Arrow hadn't aged at all since his bout

with corprus. Add his near-immortality to the fact that he did not need to eat or sleep, due to the enchantments of the myriad equipments surrounding him, and you have one, very bored, very powerful Bosmer...which is a very..well...dangerous thing for anyone within a good distance.

***

"Oy adventurer! Get the heck up already!"

"Eh, whazzat?" Rinin mumbled sleepily, turning over then simply going back to sleep.

"Every single time...," Shenk mumbled. The Redguard owner of Shenk's Shovel, in Caldera, simply crept over to the adventurer and landed him a hearty punch to the face, bringing an irate and injured adventurer to a rather rapid amount of wakefulness.

"MOON-AND-STAR THAT HURT!!" Rinin roared as Shenk let out a low chuckle. This, at least in Shenk's opinion, always beat a wake-up call.

Shenk merely replied, "You paid for one night, not the whole day afterward. If you want to laze around today as well, then pay up."

"And that makes a punch in the face necessary?" Rinin asked incredulously. The Dark elf was sitting up by now, already dressed in a suit of battered bonemold armor, the cuirass being of the slightly better native Gah-Julan style. Reaching into the corner of the small room, he grabbed his enchanted dai-katana, Defender, and strapped it to his back.

"Well...no," the Redguard admitted. "But it's fun."

"Ah well...I better get going," he mumbled. I have to get to Balmora through the Mages Guild and I still have a visit to Creeper before I go."

*******************************

Arrow hopped down from his perch on the roof of his manor and walked through the door.

Ignoring the two Hlallu members stationed by the door, he walked immediately up to his chambers and, after reaching his wardrobe, began rooting through the various armors and artifacts contained within, throwing them out without regard to their near priceless value. Finally, he found his armor, a set of Snow Wolf leather he had had crafted in Solstheim, and began tugging on the white and black gloves, greaves, and cuirass. After strapping on the pauldrons, he got his boots- these solid black wolf leather- and pulled them on.

"Going on a trip, sir?" came the raspy voice of the male Hlallu member from the arch of the entrance of his room.

"Clearly," he muttered, not even bothering to recall the elf's name, other than the fact that he dealt in books and scrolls. "You carry scrolls, right?" At the Dark Elf's affirming nod, Arrow reached under his bed and pulled out some summoning scrolls and tossed them to the elf. "These will summon Atronarches," he warned. "Hold down the fort while I'm gone."

"But..umm....where are you going?" The confused Dunmer asked.

"I'm taking a walk to Balmora." Walking over to his desk, Arrow began picking up his small, near-legendary arsenal of weapons and began strapping them to his person. The Black Hand Dagger, a dagger of Daedric origin passed down from each Grandmaster of the Morag Tong to his successor, went in the back of his belt side-by-side with a white dagger of more conventional design, which he claimed was the artifact Mehrune's Razor. At one hip went Soulstealer, a Daedric Tanto designed to trap souls, and on his back went Hellfire, a Daedric Wakizashi glimmering with deadly flame enchantments along its length. After that he put on his quiver of of arrows, all of them enchanted arrows of silver, and then the Dragonfire Bow, his enchanted bonemold bow.

"Sir? Is all of that really necessary for a simple walk to a town that is just down the river?" the elf asked, eying all of his gear with near-awe.

Arrow flashed his servant one of his trademark grins, and replied, "I'd rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it."

*********************************

Rinin stepped off the teleportation platform in the Balmora Mages Guild and looked around, giving a nod of thanks to the Breton woman at the platform. Walking up to the firs story of the building, he stopped and flashed a friendly smile to Ranis Athrys, the guild steward for the Mages Guild in Balmora.

"Hey, Ranis!" Rinin greeted, "Heard any good rumors?"

"I see by your outfit, Rinin, that your affairs have prospered," she replied. "And yes...my sources tell me that the Eight Plates just got a new shipment of flin- I thought you'd like to hear that."

"As always, you know my heart," he laughed. "I'll head right over-want me to get you anything?"

"No, I'm fine. Besides..you'll probably end up trying to out drink some poor sap in sujamma."

"Suit yourself," he said, "But don't blame me when you're stuck here with nothing interesting to do.."

"Versus getting trapped in a barroom brawl with you, my good spellsword?" she retorted, " I think not."

"Your words wound me, for I give you my word as a scholar and a gentleman-"

"Of which," she interjected, "You are neither."

"-that I will not start-"

"Oh, of course not..you'll trick the poor sap next to you to start it."

Rinin stood there for a moment, looked at his friend and superior, then muttered, "By the Nine....you know me too well."And with that he walked out and headed toward the Eight Plates.

**********************************

Moments after Rinin's departure, Hur, an Argonian, burst through the door.

"Ranis!" she said breathlessly, "I saw Arrow! He's walking into town right now!"

"Any idea where he's headed?" Ranins questioned.

"I think he mentioned the Eight Plates," she answered, holding her tail and catching her breath.

"Oh no.." Ranis whispered. The idea of Arrow, one of the craziest Bosmer she had ever met, being in the same room with Rinin, who was a natural troublemaker, was a scary thought. The fact that they were going to be in a bar, with alcohol, was even worse.

She hoped the owner had the septims to pay for the damages.

***

Arrow walked into a scene of utter chaos.

The Eight Plates was a battle royale, with various patrons pounding each other with fists, bottles, chairs, and whatever else came to hand. The publican, happy for a diversion, called out to the patrons, "Hey! Break it up! The Nevarine's in here!"

After a few seconds the fighting ground to a halt. However, just as the owner sighed in releif, a particular Dark Elf in bonemold armor used the distraction to turn around and slam one of the patrons with a punch that would've felled a guar. Unfortunately, the patron was a Dark Elf, so instead of simply falling down he was sent sliding headfirst along a table, at which point he was blessedly rendered unconscious. Carefully navigating around the fighting, Arrow made his way to the publican, Dulnea Ralaal, who was huddled underneath one of the kegs against the wall.

"Hello, milady," Arrow said with a mockingly cheeful tone to his voice, "how are you this fine day?"

"Arrow," she pleaded, "can't you break this up before the guards get here? Please?"

"Hmm...I will if you do me a favor," he said, then quickly added as the publican's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Nothing major. Just a few drinks on the house for me and...." Searching through the groups of combatants, he pointed at the Dunmer who had started the fight again after he had walked in. "That guy- he's got good form."

"Him?!?" Dulnea spluttered, "Rinin's the one who started all this in the first place! He started a fight with that rouge over there and got everyone dragged into it!" During her last sentence, she looked in the direction of another armored Dunmer, this one weraing one of the bonemold helms that obscured his face.

"Eh..Oh well," Arrow replied, "Enjoy breaking up this little fight."

"Fine, you cheeky little fetcher," she all but snarled, "But it better be cleaned up quick!"

Arrow dipped her a quick bow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Your wish is my command, milady." And with that he turned around, leapt a good six feet through the air, and caught two of the combatants with simultaneous flying punches to their faces.

***

Rinin was in a bit of trouble, for the Eight Plates was unusually packed tonight. After gut-punching his most recent opponent and throwing him to the floor, he turned and found himself face-to-face with a leather clad Bosmer. Seeing that he wasn't going to throw a punch at him, Rinin decided to see if he knew where the dang Nevarine was that the publican was yelling about.

"Excuse me, friend, but do you know where the Nevarine is?" he asked, trying not to spook the fellow.

"You're looking right at him, Dunmer," the elf said in a surprisingly deep voice. Deep for a Bosmer at least....which made it about normal pitch.

At this, Rinin began looking around, but the only person in front of him was the Wood Elf.

"I beg to differ," Rinin began, "But I don't see him."

The elf frowned, then spoke slowly, as if to a child. "I. Am. The. Nevarine."

Rinin burst out laughing, long, hearty guffaws that seemed to kindle a bit of annoyance in the Bosmer's face.

"How," Rinin began after he was finished, "could the Nevarine, the slayer of Dagoth Ur, the Chosen of Azura, the uncrowned king of Morrowind, be so _short__**?"**_

Rinin suddenly found himself wondering how the ground had become a wall.

***

"So let me get this straight," Rinin began. After he had managed to get back to his feet, Arrow had all but dragged him over to the bar, at which point the publican handed them both a flask of Cyroldillic brandy. Looking at Arrow, he began. "Alright...so you're the Nevarine." At Arrow's affirming nod he continued. "You don't age, you don't need to eat or sleep, and there's not much left to interest you."

"Naturally," replied the smirking Bosmer. "I managed to kill Dagoth Ur, with a bit of help from some artifacts, of course." At that he held up his right hand, clad in Wraithguard, the Dwemer gauntlet which allowed him to use Keening and Sunder. "Not only that, but I went toe-to-toe with Almalexia, one of the Tribunal, and came out on top. A bit of a shame, that. She wasn't bad looking, if ya' get my meaning."

"Umm....sure....whatever you say," was just about all Rinin could manage to come up with. "So, why did you floor, then proceed to buy me a drink?"

Arrow looked at him for a moment, then spoke. "You're good with your hands. And from that monster you call a sword that's strapped to your back, they aren't even your best weapon."

"Defender? There's nothing monstrous about it!", he exclaimed.

The Wood Elf snorted, almost blowing his brandy all over the Dunmer. "Here," he said, unsheathing Hellfire. "Take a look at this."

The first thing that Rinin noticed as the blade came out of its sheath was that the blade was jet black and had a red, magical pattern slowly making its way along the blade. As it came into his hands, he nearly gasped- the blade was even heavier than Defender!

At Rinin's look, the elf explained. "It's Daedric, Dunmer. Here's a basic rundown of what a Daedric weapon is. They are extremely heavy, durable, and powerful weapons most often wielded by Dremora. They are jet black, with a little red in them, and are made of an unknown material. Each one is worth a small fortune, and can contain some pretty powerful enchantments."

"Right," Rinin absentmindedly agreed, running it over in his hands. "Whatever you say."

"As I was saying, before you felt the desire to defend your weapon," Arrow sighed, "Your fists are not what you are best with. There are not many fighters around these days, at least not those of your class, and Morrowind will need all of them, I feel."

"What about you?"

"Boy," Arrow smirked, "I am in a class all by my own. I have fought battles the people have forgotten of that would kill a lesser man...well, elf."

"Look on the bright side- at least your fame does not match your stature."

"I don't have to take this," Arrow laughed, "My stature is quite handy to have, you know. Anyway, I shall take my small stature and go to a bed which, luckily, I will actually fit inside."

At that, the Nevarine gave a mischevious wink, and added, "Just because I don't have to sleep doesn't mean I don't enjoy lazing away half the day in bed."

***

When Arrow sensed something was wrong, the ranger was out of the bed and with a dagger in either hand faster than most could even draw their weapons. Once he saw his visitor, however, he let a groan and sheathed his blades.

"What do you want now, Azura? The first time you talked to me I had to go and kill Dagoth Ur and his brood of ash vampires. The second time, I ended up in the Clockwork City, dodging a freaking gigantic, spinning wheel thing that was there for NO reasonable reason whatsoever, just so I could fight an insane goddess because you were too lazy to kill the nut case your own dang self. What do you want now?"

The Dunmer goddess who, strangely enough, was in his room, was nothing short of beautiful. Slim and statuesque, with flowing robes of a deep blue, with glowing red eyes and dark skin signature to the Dunmer, she was as close as opposite to her servant as one could come. Arrow, with his pale skin, short, with blond hair and tawny eyes, rugged, battle worn, and armed to the teeth, was a far cry from the tall goddess. And, it seemed, she was smiling.

"Arrow," she began in her powerful, multi -toned voice, "I have no great quest for you, for I merely ask a favor from you, my champion."

"No quest?" he asked warily, "No angry goddesses, demons, undead armies, deadly spinning wheels, or spontaneous combustion of me or any friends, acquaintances, or their pet guar?"

"....No," she answered, once again smiling.

"Then what?"

"Merely this. You made an observation that Morrowind needs all the champions it can find. That is true. I wish you to teach this Rinin, and show him what it means to take on the mantle of a hero. I wish for you to take him as your apprentice."

"Apprentice? You've got to be kidding me- he's a troublemaker! He started a tavern brawl!" Arrow stopped dead in his tracks, hearing the eerie, multi-toned laughter of the goddess.

"Arrow," she began, still laughing, "who are you, Master Thief, to call someone a troublemaker? You are a Bosmer, who learned mischeif with your first steps. That is why you were in prison in Valenwood to begin with!"

Arrow stared at the goddess for a moment, suddenly given a reminder of the goddess' knowledge of him, his past, and the word's. Then, he joined her in laughter, great, bellowing laughs rocking his small frame.

***

Sleeping in his bed in the Eight Plates, Rinin shivered and shifted a bit, sitting on his bed as he stopped honing his sword blade. After a moment, he continued sliding the whetstone along the blade, becoming lost in the rasp of stone on steel, completely unaware of the the direction his destiny had just taken. Be it for better or worse, though, not even Azura could've answered that.

End Of Chapter 1


	2. Rinin's Journal

CHAPTER 2

Upon exiting the Eight Plates (which relieved Dulnea greatly), Rinin was hailed by Arrow.

"Hey, Rinin!" the Wood Elf shouted. Despite hearing him clearly, Rinin did not see him anywhere. "Look up!" came another shout.

Looking upwards, Rinin saw the Bosmer, Sitting at the edge of the roof, Arrow was casually tossing one of his knives up into the air, spinning, and proceeding to catch it by the handle.

"Yeah? What is it?"

"Wanna take a walk with me?"

"Dunno," the Dunmer reasoned, "Where are we going?"

Arrow smirked, then replied, "My house." With a whirling flip he jumped off the roof, and landed on his feet right beside the spellsword. "Time's a wastin'! Come on!"

***

Rethan was a town that had cropped up around Arrow's stronghold, Rethan Manor, a few years after Dagoth Ur's defeat. Towns like Balmora, which were enclosed by walls, simply could not hold any more houses without either difficult construction or building the new ones on top of the old. Once that was realized, colonists decided that they thought they would be better defended by the Nevarine than by the Imperial Legion or Hlallu, Redoran, and Telvanni guards. Not only that, but Arrow had used his extensive wealth, high standing, and high rank in the Fighters and Mages Guilds to employ a trained force of people to defend it. The central keep, which was the original manor and houses, was surrounded by a wall at the top of a hill. Houses built along the hill, and into the mountains across the river, made the actual town. Constantly patrolled by armored guards and battlemages, it was one of the safest places in Morrowind. Upon reaching the arch of the entrance to the keep, the two of them were greeted by a red haired Dunmer wearing black armor and cradling an equally dark helm in one arm.

"Rinin, meet Devalen Telaraus. Devalen, meet Rinin." After speaking, Arrow simply walked past the two and went into his manor house, looking over his shoulder with a faint smile. "You two have fun."

"Uh...Does he always do this?" Rinin asked.

"Pretty much," came the reply, "He tends to dissapear rather frequently, but I guess he wants me to keep you company." At that he pulled out a flask of flin, and from somewhere he produced a pair of cups. "Care to join me? I'm sure we have plenty of tales to share."

***

"Azura!", Arrow called out, "Get out here! I need to talk with you!"

"Turn around, Arrow."

"Oh," Sitting on his bed, Arrow looked at the goddess and asked, "Alright. I have Rinin here, but how do I get him to agree to be my pupil? I'm no teacher, and while I have a quick tongue, I haven't used it to get an apprentice before."

"Find what he values most, Arrow, and appeal to it. He should agree, I believe."

"As always," he sighed, "You leave all the work to me. Thanks for the hint, at least."

He looked up, expecting a reply, but the goddess was already gone.

***

"And that," Devalen finished, "Is how I came across Auriel's Bow."

"Really?" Rinin laughed, "Therana thought it smelled like ash yams?"

"May Azura curse me if it is true," The sorcerer announced devoutly. "More flin?" Without waiting for a reply, he produced a second flask, just as mysteriously as the first, and filled up Rinin's cup to the brim.

Rinin sat for a moment, sipping the cup of flin. "What exactly do you do here?", he asked.

"Hmm? Ah, yes. I serve as the commander of the Rethan Guard and as Arrow's Telvanni contact."

"How'd a Telvanni sorcerer end up working for the Nevarine? He's the head of Great House Hlallu, you know," Rinin questioned.

The cryptic answer came after a pause. "He saved my life."

"Can you possibly be any more vague?"'

"I was infected with vampirism," Devalen ground out, "He found me before it set in, and he cured me. I don't like to talk about it. I was in the middle of the Molag Amur range, out of potions and badly wounded. If he hadn't found me, I would either be dead, or undead..and neither appeals to me."

Rinin was, understandably, curious. "How did he find you in the middle of the mountains?"

"See this armor?", he tapped the black plate armor covering him. "The cuirass and greaves are Daedric, enchanted with feather so they are near-weightless. The rest, except for the pauldrons, are bound armor, and _ are _weightless. What does that mean? Magic. Arrow cast Detect enchantment and combed the mountains for me. He found me after two days of searching- I owe him my life."

"How'd he know you were there?"

"Adventurers of our calibur know of each other. He heard I'd been missing, and he knew where I was headed. Luckily, I was smart enough not to rest, because vampirism sets in the first time you rest after three days of being bitten. I couldn't hold on to consciousness much longer, though."

"Where were you headed, exactly?"

"An old Dwemer observatory. I wasn't prepared for what was there."

***

Arrow walked up to Rinin and Devalen, the two of them accompanied by ten empty flasks. From the smell, Arrow assumed it was flin.

"Hey, Arrow, get over 'ere!" Rinin proclaimed in a slurred tone, paired with a drunken wave.

"...You're drunk,"

"Nah, everyone knows you don't get drunk on flin."

Eying the row of empty flasks, Arrow was a little amused."I don't think the brewers were concerned with someone drinking about a gallon of it," he said. "I think you'd better sleep here tonight."

***

Rinin awoke to a loud noise, like wood scraping wood. Opening one eye, he saw Arrow sitting in a chair, flipping through the pages of...his journal?!?

"What are you DOING?" he yelled. Or started to at least, as a splitting headache seemed to pierce his skull like a knife blade....or several dozen knife blades. It seemed, unfortunately, that he had a hangover.

"I told you you were drunk," the Nevarine replied, not even looking up from Rinin's journal. "One should always listen to his elders, his betters, and his leaders. Of which," he added with a wink, "I am all three."

***

Arrow flipped through the pages of Rinin's journal, the Dunmer once again passed out in a drunken slumber.

_Day 67,_

_Ella._

_The name of a Dunmer woman I met today. She seems interesting- if you consider a woman who can take on a pack of Nix-Hounds with an old crossbow interesting. I met her on the road to Ald-Ruhn. She's sleeping at the moment-we are sharing a camp, for protection...not that I mind._

Rinin snored, turning a bit in the bed. Arrow looked up, smiling a bit, remembering his own days of drunkenness, years ago. He had since learned his lesson that the headache left from a jug of sujamma was not worth the burst of strength it gave. He turned back to the book.

_Day 72,_

_We are still traveling together, finding adventure where we will. I picked up a new sword today in Sadrith Mora, a steel dai-katana made by a Redguard there..It seems sharp, and in good condition. We've heard rumors of bandits along the coast, but we've decided we can handle any trouble, her crossbow with my steel and spells. We leave tomorrow to look for their base. Our relationship is growing- it is obvious in the little things, her sitting a little closer, a little more laughter, a better understanding of each other. Though it's never happened before, I think I may have found love. Too soon to tell._

Arrow chuckled quietly, wondering why he had never met this "Ella". Perhaps the answer was later on in the journal? He turned another page.

_Day 74,_

_We found a few traveling Ashlanders. They seem friendly enough, even know the location of the outlaw's base. They warned us not to go there, saying they've seen half a dozen well-armed bandits and rouges there, and they know there are more in the cave where they hide. We are drawn to adventure, though, and we believe that, for there to be such a large group, there must be quite a bit of loot. Tonight, Ella and I kissed. It's only been a week, but I already know I love her._

_Day 75,_

_How could things have gone so wrong? The outlaws caught us by surprise, knocking me unconscious before I knew what was happening, just before we entered the cave. I don't know where they have Ella, but I know where I am- rotting in a cell somewhere in a cave. Luckily, they've assumed I'm no more than a warrior, and have not taken any precautions against my spells. Can I take a chance, though? I know not where they keep Ella, and I cannot risk her so soon. I'm not sure what the men here want, but they must want something or I'd be dead._

_Day 77,_

_I cannot wait any longer. I could use Recall and leave here, but I can't risk that- they may harm Ella....I can't risk it. My plan is to use magic to escape the room and overwhelm the guards, then take a weapon and fight my way through until I find her. Or die. Whichever come first._

Arrow stared at the spellsword, at a loss for words as to the fact that he would willingly risk his life for someone he had just met. If Arrow was in that situation, he would have cast Recall and left. Of course...he wouldn't have been ambushed in the first place...

_Day 78,_

_She's dead._

Arrow stopped suddenly, reading and rereading the words, for they were the only ones on the page. He wasn't sure, but he believed there were a few faint smudges, left from long-shed tears, on the page. He turned the page, hoping to find more information.

_Day 79,_

_Ella is dead. I fought past the guards and retrieved my weapon, fighting my way down along the caves, searching for her. Eventually I made my way to what I believed was the leader's room, only to stop dead in my tracks as I saw that Bosmer holding a kinife to Ella's throat. "Don't move," he had said, an uncaring grin on his face. Ella struggled, trying to break free, to save me, I guess. The fetcher slit her throat and slipped on a ring, and golden light began to engulf him as the Recall spell took effect. "The name's Vastion," he called, just before he vanished._

_I ran to her side, the blood a crimson flow coming from her throat. She looked so small, so helpless, now. I could've tried healing her, but the wound was fatal and Restoration was never my forte. I could only hold her, comfort her, as the light left those copper eyes set in her lovely face. I could only stare as her skin became pale as the blood stopped pumping. I could only watch her die._

_Vastion. I won't forget that name. Anyone soulless enough to slit the throat of an unarmed woman has to be stopped before he brings more grief to this island._

_He will burn for this, no matter what._

Arrow closed the journal, noting the date had been several years ago. He slowly slipped it back into Rinin's pack, and sat back in his chair, thumb tapping his chin in a pensive manner.

Vastion- where had he heard that name? He thought harder, but it was no one he had met or heard of on Morrowind.

***

End Of Chapter 2

Sorry about the delay


	3. The unbent knee

**Chapter 3**

Rinin woke up, the sunlight streaming gently through a window and playing across the floor in narrow beams of light. Almost immediately he winced at the fierce headache he had, but..oh well. He'd had worse. Rubbing the back of his head, dark hair still tousled from sleep, he sat up, flinching as wave of lightheadedness hit him like...like...well...the aftershock of potent or voluminous liquor.

Frowning at his dizziness, he slowly made his way down the stairs, stepping carefully down the worn, wooden steps and hearing..._music_?

He silently made it to he foot of the stairs, red eyes aglow with curiosity. Making it to the foot of the stairs, he saw one of the most incongruous images he had ever seen.

Arrow, clad in his dark leather armor, blades strapped in various places all over his body, wearing items that literally _shown_ with magical power and an elf who was perhaps among the deadliest of mortals to walk the face of the world, was sitting on a stool, playing a lute.

Agile fingers more suited to picking a pocket or manipulating the mechanisms of lock were splayed across the strings, precisely moving across the instrument to bring forth a quiet melody that brought to mind the images of long years and memories.

Eyes that were always on the move, searching every corner of every shadow due to long years of practice were closed and calm.

Taking another step forward, the heel of Rinin's foot scuffed the ground.

The melody immediately stopped, and the Nevarine's eyes slowly opened.

"Well now," he said. "You're awake." Arrow's scarred face lit up in a tired smile. "We have to talk."

"Of?" Rinin casually leaned in the doorway, prompting the wood elf to continue.

Arrow easily turned to face him, moving with an ease and quicksilver grace despite his apparent state of relaxation. "Not here," he remarked, indicating the room. "Outside."

* * *

"You want me to do _what_?"

The Bosmer looked to the seething dark elf, a faint gleam in his eyes as he regarded the Dunmer spellsword. "You know..." he began uncertainly. "Become my apprentice. I don't really know how to go about this."

"Clearly."

"You aren't making this any easier," Arrow retorted. "This isn't my decision. It's an edict of Azura!"

Rinin calmed somewhat at that, but when he spoke it was a voice that neared contemptuous. "And why would I care about her?" he asked, a faint tone of condescension apparent in his tone. "She already has one pet to play run and fetch for her."

When Arrow finally replied, it was with deadly calm. "I bend knee to no one." The Nevarine said, cold as steel and just as unbending. "I have spoken with an avatar of Zenithar. I do not serve him. I have spoken with Azura. I do not serve her. I slew Amalexia and came upon the murdered corpse of Sotha Sil. I speak with Vivec as an equal and he holds me in the same respect. I have spoken with Sheograth, and he has no hold of me. I fought with Hercine and won. Speak not to me of serving, _boy._ Speak not of me as you would of some pet, some beast of burden for the immortals. I bow to no one, and if I do something, it is _by my choice_. I live too long and have shortened the lives of too many others to be impressed by power any more."

Tat set the Dunmer back on his heels, and for the first time he truly comprehended the force of nature that was the ranger. He truly realized just how formidable he was, to have achieved the golas he had that had already become legend.

"I'm sorry," Rinin began. "But if not for her, then why do you want me to be under your tutelage?"

"Just because I do not serve the gods does not mean I will not follow their advice. That is simply being a fool."

"And why," said Rinin, "should I agree? Why should I spend my time as your servant, your _apprentice_, when I have other things to do?"

For just a moment, a smirk flashed across Arrow's face. "Because I know you," he said. He looked up into the sky, into the clouds as they drifted by overhead. For a moment, he was silent. "I know you cannot step down from a challenge. And I _know_," he said, poking Rinin hard in the chest, "what has happened to you. I read your journal, remember?"

Rinin looked down at the Bosmer, and thought for a moment, realizing he had just been played. The whole thing had been predicted, and Arrow knew his reactions every step of the way. Like it or not, the Nevarine _did_ know him. He frowned for a moment, then cursed under his breath. "You're good," he admitted.

He thought Arrow's smile may have taken in his ears.

"So we have a deal?" the Nevarine asked, trying very hard to at least _appear _solemn, for the boy's sake.

"Aye."

Suddenly, Arrow held out his hand. "Shake on it?" he asked.

Wondering what the tricky Bosmer was up to, Rinin complied. The next few hours passed in a blur, with Arrow showing him around Rethan and even arranging for quarters to be found for the spellsword. As it turned he had, apparently, been sleeping off the alcohol in Arrow's private room. Leaving Rinin in his new room in an accommodating (and relatively clean) inn, Arrow sped off for his manor or whatever destination, to the ultimate detriment of its inhabitants, he had in mind.

It wasn't until several minutes later that Rinin realized that the tricky little Bosmer had stolen his pouch and all of the gold therein. Smirking at the apparently-experienced thief's naiveté, he reached into a hidden compartment in his armor for his second one.

Which turned out to be gone as well.

He cursed again, this time loudly.

* * *

Making his merry way along to his manor, Arrow realized something. Coming to a stop in the middle of the street, he gave a long, profound groan.

"I don't have a clue as to what to do."

It was then that he started laughing. He continued back to his home, juggling a pair of stolen purses all the while. Each mortal had his own way of having fun, he supposed, and even some of the immortals, too. This was his.

To each his own.


	4. Shadows

_**Chapter 4**_

Defender cut a gleaming arc through the air, parrying the flaming arm of the atronarch. Rinin backed up and came at the creature again, breath coming in labored gasps as he swung his blade in a sweeping series of attacks that ended with his blade embedded in the torso of the elemental creature. The creature dissipated in a flash of golden light-

And appeared back in front of Arrow. For the eighth time.

"You're getting better," the Bosmer remarked. "But you need to work on your endurance- you just aren't quite athletic enough to fight in a full-scale pitched battle."

"And you aren't?" Rinin panted, grabbing a towel from the rack set into the side of the wall. They were in a training room, one often frequented by the Rethan Guards. A circle of them had now gathered, led by Devalen, and were a silent audience to Rinin's training. Wiping himself off, Rinin sheathed his sword with a quick jerk into the sheath across his back. "How do you do that, anyway?" he asked. "With the summoning. You don't actually..well.._summon_ the thing."

Arrow slipped off a ring and the atronarch disspipated, cluing Rinin in to the source of the magic.

"The Ring of the Familiar," the Nevarine said proudly. "It constantly binds a Flame Atronarch to the will of its wearer. It cost a bit, too. But it's so darn _fun_ to sit around, slipping it on and off!"

Rinin could only offer a slight chuckle, unsure of how to respond.

Suddenly Arrow was serious. He locked his tawny-gold eyes with Rinin's own red orbs. "We have a problem with the training, though," he explained. "I mean, sure. You're getting good practice out of this, and eventually I'll even deign to train with you. Maybe."

At that Arrow slipped the ring into a pocket and winked before continuing. "The problem is, I don't have a clue as to how to train a spellsword. I'm a _ranger_," he declared, "Speed is my weapon, I fight close in and go so fast that any traditional foe can't keep up. Sure, I know magic. But," he paused, letting the full weight of his words sink in. "Spells are not my _passion._ Your strength is weaving spells with steel to the greatest effect and versatility. You need someone who know how to fight like that, versus my speed and enchantments."

"And who would that be?" Rinin asked. He brushed his dark hair back from his face, then gestured around him. "I didn't exactly see any other spellswords around. Comes from being an Imperial style of fighting, I guess."

"No. But," Arrow said, "we have a _sorcerer_. We have Devalen."

At that Devalen stepped back a bit, almost bumping into one of the guards with him. "Me?," he asked. "You could have bothered to _tell_ me, you know. I _do _have a schedule..."

"Oh?" Arrow retorted. "And what is that? All you do is drill the guards and get drunk at the slightest provocation. Which," he said, "I overlook because you are a friend and your services are invaluable. The guards have already been trained up to a point where Rethan practically has its own private army, and my cellars would probably run dry. Face it..,you have _nothing_ better to do than this."

"Umm...hello? Do I get any say in this?" Rinin asked.

Arrow turned around and winked. "Nope," he said cheerily.

Devalen sighed, then looked at Arrow. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"Oh, not much," the ranger answered. "Just give him some training in combat. You know, swordsmanship, spells, etcetera."

A muscle in Devalen's face twitched, and he looked at Arrow as he growled, "The intricacies of the sword are not to be taught in a day, Arrow. They are far more refined and complex than the warrior's axe, or the barbarian's hammer. _Especially_ when one weaves in battle spells with them. Poor training can be disastrous."

At that point, Rinin piped in, "You know, I _do understand_ the basics."

"Basics?" Devalen retorted. "I've been fighting since before you were born, kid, and I still know that I have more to learn. How long do I have, Arrow?"

"A week," Arrow replied. "I have buisness to take care of in Vivec and Ebonheart, some of which relates to Rinin. After that, I have to go to Tel Fryr...I've been putting off a visit to Divayth for a few months now."

"What do you mean?" Rinin asked, curiosity evident on his face. "What do you mean, buisness regarding me?"

When Arrow spoke, it was only one word, and lacking all of the joviality of his previous tone.

"Vastion," he said.

"How?"

"I have my sources," the cagey ranger replied, and in a single gesture he was gone, teleported by some spell of Recall or Intervention.

"I hate it when he does that," Devalen grumbled.

Rinin started to agree, but stopped as the Nevarine's words caught up to him. "Divayth?" he mouthed.

Devalen began to explain, his voice holding a bit of sadness beneath a grim facade. "Never listen to the legends, boy," he said softly. "Immortality is more a curse than a blessing. Arrow is doomed to watch all those he cares about wither and die. His only constant companions are Vivec and those Telavanni masters that practice the necromantic arts. And Azura, of course."

"It can't be that bad."

"Ever heard of Percius Mercius?" the sorcerer asked quietly. "Caius Casades? Falx Carius? Of couse not. They were before your time. Each of them stood with Arrow in times of adversity, though thick and thin. Humans all, and he had to watch them grow old and die while he remained the same as the day he met them. I'll have to tell you their stories someday."

* * *

Vivec was the capitol of traditional Morrowind, the home of Vivec, its namesake, and easily one of the biggest cities in the province. With Dagoth Ur gone, and the blight as well, the city now flourished, its population many times larger than the time Arrow had first laid eyes on it. In fact, several new cantons had been built, purely for housing purposes. The city was constantly bustling, a busy hive of activity and closely guarded by the ever watchful Ordinators. But it was not the city folk that had brought Arrow here.

Making his way to the Arena, by way of a gondola, Arrow walked down to the sandy pit, feeling a bit of nostalgia at all he had accomplished here in that very pit. It was here that he had ascended to the rank of Archmage of the mages guild, here that he had secured some of his needed votes to become Hortator. It was here that he had had quite a bit of fun, and changed history in his own small way.

Good times, those.

But still, it wasn't the pit that had brought him here either.

He made his way down into the pit, and down farther into the tunnels underneath it. Walking the same path he had for years, he opened a door into the storage room.

A faint musk wafted up towards him, an animal scent, and he looked down to see a pair of dead rats, stuffed neatly into a crate near the door. Despite the darkness, Arrow could see clearly into the room as if it was outside during the afternoon. One of the effects of the Ring of Raven Eye that he wore, a powerful item that let him see in the darkness and enhanced his already impossibly keen eye with a bow. He easily navigated his way through the cluttered room, and came upon a heavily locked door.

Smiling slightly, Arrow prepared a spell to open it. However, he changed his mind and reached into his pouch and withdrew an expertly made lockpick and a set of probes.

Grinning widely now, he worked for a minute or two, humming a tune and picking apart the mechanisms of the lock and dismantling several formidable traps on the door. Pushing it open, the door made no noise on its well oiled hinges. He swung it shut again, and with eye-blurring speed he went through the process of relocking the door and resetting the traps, moving with a quickness born of long practice in illicit activities. Once the door was fixed to his satisfaction, he went to an even more heavily locked trapdoor and repeated the process. Just as his humming reached an apex at the end of the tune, the trapdoor clicked open and he slid silently down a ladder within.

Dropping down to the floor silently, he offered a nod and a grin to the two grim Dunmer standing guard at the base of the ladder. They were clad in dark, leather armor similar to Arrow's but obviously of lower quality and probably from an entirely different animal. One of them clutched a throwing dagger in each hand, while the other held a shortsword. At Arrow's nod, however, those weapons disappeared in the blink of an eye and they moved aside, allowing the Nevarine to pass.

Arrow walked down a low hallway, faint light from the torches in the wall illuminating dust motes drifting aimlessly in his wake. Casually walking out, he was in a wide room. A third assassin- and indeed it was an assassin- came up to him and bowed deeply.

"It has been long since your last visit, Grandmaster," he said quietly.

"Too long," Arrow agreed. But I am here only for buisness. Is Eno here?"

"Yes, Grandmaster," the words were spoken quietly and crisply, like a dagger being unsheathed. "He is at the altar."

* * *

Eno Hlallu was another Dunmer, dressed in robes of deep red and apparently unarmed, though Arrow knew that the Dark Elf's fists were as deadly as a warrior's blade and that innumerable weapons were probably concealed within the rich folds of the robe.

"Greetings,"the one-time-Grandmaster of the Morag Tong said. "I thought I heard your voice."

"Your hospitality is, as always, heartwarming," came Arrow's sarcastic reply. "No hello for a friend?"

"We are friends only when we leave these walls. Here, you are the master and I am the lieutenant."

Arrow stared at Eno for a moment. He truly did view him as a friend, although he was grim, somber, and rather boring, like most Dunmer. He would trust him with his life, however, assassin though he was.

"I need information," the Bosmer said. "I need to know about a Wood Elf by the name of Vastion."

A flash of recognition came into Eno's eyes.

* * *

Rinin came at Devalen, clenching the wooden practice blade in both hands and swinging down with a powerful vertical stroke that was met and parried easily by the older and more experienced Dunmer.

The two circled, a whirling mass of wood and flesh as they exchanged cuts and parries, Devalen always seeming to be a move ahead. Finally, with a twist and flourish, Devalen disarmed Rinin and knocked him down to the ground. Grounding the point of his practice blade, one considerably shorter than Rinin's and more suited to fighting with a shield than with two hands, he leaned on the pommel and assumed a relaxed posture.

"You understand the basics of swordplay, but you have only begun to grasp what it means to be a swordsman," he said as Rinin got back up. Walking over to a weapons rack at the far end of the room, he carefully replaced his practice sword in its place before continuing. "You are like a dancer who knows but the rudimentary dances. You have talent, but not the knowledge. You are still a formidable opponent, but you could be so much _more_."

Rinin came to his feet, panting heavily, and with clothes soaked in sweat and clinging to his muscular frame. Devalen was shirtless, and the muscles of his powerful form seemed to ripple as he turned back to face him. "Give me a year," the sorcerer said, "and you would be my equal. Give me two, and you'd surpass me." With that he offered a wink and walked out of the room. Rinin followed.

"Surpass you?" the spellsword said with a rueful chuckle. "Doubtful. You have too much experience, too much training. Don't feed me any lies." Any sting in his words was taken out immediately by his friendly tone and a slight smile.

"Perhaps," Devalen admitted. "But if so, more because my magical knowledge far surpasses yours, as does the quality of my equipment. What you lack in experience you will make up for in raw talent, my boy. For now, though, take a break."

Devalen gestured expansively about him, taking in the blue sky, the fine weather, and the cool breeze that gently wafted the scent of the nearby river to them. "It's a beautiful day outside, one of many on this island." With that final gesture he began to walk off, but turned around and tossed a pouch in Rinin's direction. "Take it," he said. Then, he took his leave and went off to his quarters in the Rethan barracks, leaving Rinin staring at the dark pouch.

Slowly, he opened it, half fearing it to be empty and rather curious as to what could be within. Inside it was a simple-looking ring, a band of silver set with a clear, silvery stone. Wondering as to its enchantments- if it was enchanted at all- he slipped it on his finger.

Immediately he felt all of his weariness leave him, and even as he marveled at that he felt the bruises he had gained through hours of training with the tough Devalen begin to heal, the pain retreating as if they were dashed in cold water. Rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, he checked on a rather nasty bruise he had received to the _thwack_ of the sorcerer's practice blade. Whereas moments before it had been a kind of purplish, it had already faded to a sullen pink. As he stared at it, it faded away to nothing. Taking it off, he looked in the inside of the ring's band to see fine writing, wrote in the language of magic.

"The Ring of Youthful Vigor?" he mouthed quietly. Turning it over in his hands, he saw a symbol engraved into the stone set onto its face of a stylized arrow, with wings instead of feathers where the fletchings would be. "An arrow......for Arrow?" he wondered.

The question nonwithstanding, he wondered off to his rooms to change into a fresh set of clothes.

* * *

_This is the author...I hope you people have a good Thanksgiving! Thank you for reading this so far, and feel free to read&review. I look forward to continuing this story, and am accepting any suggestions you all may have._


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